He raised his bottle slightly. "You don't need a cathedral to have a conversation, Miller. Sometimes a cold one and a wooden table is all the altar you need."
"So," Miller started, tracing a ring of condensation on the table. "You still doing the Sunday morning thing?" Drinkin Beer. Talkin God. Amen. (feat. Florida Georgia Line)
Chase nodded, looking out the window at the rolling hills fading into the purple twilight. "I get it. It’s easier to hear Him out here. Sometimes it’s in the preacher's words, sure, but most times? It’s in the way the wind hits the cornfields or just sitting right here, catching up with an old friend." He raised his bottle slightly
Chase took a slow pull of his beer, the cold crispness hitting just right. "Every week. Still in the third row, right behind your aunt. She still hits the high notes a little too hard." "You still doing the Sunday morning thing